


An Affair of Affliction

by funkytoes



Series: White Oaks [2]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, World War II, that no one probably wants but I'm posting anyway XD, this is the sequel to White Oaks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkytoes/pseuds/funkytoes
Summary: Sequel to my fanfiction "White Oaks"Astrid Cartan has everything she could ask for. A loving husband and son, a beautiful home, and an affluent lifestyle. Chance meetings and an impending war threaten to change her life in an unforgiving and irreversible way.
Relationships: Astrid Hofferson/Original Male Character(s), Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson
Series: White Oaks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891087
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	An Affair of Affliction

**This is a sequel to to my fanfiction White Oaks :)**

* * *

Wethers had just placed her breakfast tray on her lap when Matthew entered the room, having just finished getting ready for the day in his own private dressing room. “Good morning, Love,” he said to her, standing before the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Good morning,” Astrid replied, taking a sip of coffee and picking up the letters Wethers had lain on the tray. “That will be all, Wethers,” she told the maid, who curtsied and left the room.

“What is your schedule today?” Matthew finally asked, looking at her in the reflection of the mirror.

“I have a meeting with the Children’s Charity board of directors,” she said, taking a letter and cutting it open with the letter opener. It was a request to donate money to a woman’s charity. She sighed. That was all people seemed to want out of her these days. Money.

“Good, good,” Matthew said absentmindedly. “I have a few meetings myself so I won’t be back until late. And I’ll be leaving for New York in the morning—we’re launching the new ship and I want to be present for the press. Keeps up morale.”

“Alright,” she said, tiling her head up slightly as he walked over and kissed her cheek.

He left, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She finished opening the letters—more requests for donations, a letter from her sister-in-law that she only skimmed, and picked up the lady’s paper, looking at the date. Septemberfirst, Nineteen-Thirty-Nine. She sighed, leaning back against the pillows, her cheek resting on her fist. Wethers would be returning soon to take her tray and help her dress, but she found she did not have much of an appetite that morning.

She took her time eating breakfast, and got up just as Wethers returned. The radio played while she dressed, but Astrid only mildly payed attention to it. Something about Germany invading Poland. She turned the radio off and decided shew oddly rather read about it in the papers the next day. She walked downstairs to the main dining hall where Evan was seated, eating his own breakfast. She walked up to him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“ _Mom,”_ he muttered, rubbing his cheek to get her lipstick off. “I’m eighteen. I don’t need you to kiss me good morning.”

“What good is it to have a son if I can’t kiss his cheek?” she asked, sitting down beside him and opening Matthew’s abandoned newspaper. “Did your father leave already?”

“Yeah,” Evan said. “Just left.”

“Are you ready?” she peered at him over the newspaper. “Big day Monday.”

“I know,” Evan said, shrugging a little too nonchalantly. “But I’m ready, Mom. It’s only college.”

“It’s _Harvard,”_ she said pointedly. When he had no reply, only staring at his empty plate, she continued, “But you’ll do fine. You graduated top of your class.”

“Everyone at Harvard graduated top of their class,” he replied.

“Well, no one else is _my_ son,” she rose and took his chin in her hands, lifting his face up and giving his forehead a firm kiss. “You’ll do fine.”

She took the newspaper with her, before informing the butler to bring the car around.

The meeting with the board of directors of the Children’s Charity was mundane, to say the least—though Astrid knew it was essential. So many families were upturned and forsaken with the downtrodden economy. Without this and other charities, countless children would starve to death, their families unable to care for them. As Astrid rose to leave the room, to head home for luncheon, a tall, plump woman by the name of Kathryn Soas called her name, stopping her from leaving.

“Astrid,” the woman said, approaching.“Have you heard the news? Germany has invaded Poland.”

“Yes, I think I heard something about that on the radio this morning,” Astrid replied.

“Terrible news,” Kathryn shook her head solemnly. “Many think it will create quite a stir—I heard Britain has begun to evacuate the populace out of the cities. A bit of an extreme move, if you ask me.”

Astrid nodded slightly, before Kathryn continued. “I do hope this will not interfere with your family business—if Germany and Poland go to war…”

“I trust my husband has prepared for every worst scenario,” Astrid replied, smiling tightly, before continuing, “Well, Kathryn, it was lovely to speak to you but I am afraid I must be going. My son is off to school on Monday and I wish to spend as much time with him as possible.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Do say hello to little Evan for me, will you?”

“He’s not so little anymore,” Astrid sighed. “Good day, Kathryn.”

When she arrived at their town home, Evan was gone. He left a note for her telling her he was out with friends. She sighed again. It seemed to her she sighed more than she did anything else these days. She sank into a seat in one of the sitting rooms. Of course he would be gone. He no doubt wanted to spend as much of his last moments of freedom with his friends before starting school. When did he grow up and decide he was too old to spend time with his mother? No doubt it was much longer ago than she would care to admit.

She ate lunch alone, as she often found herself doing theses days, and decided she would take a stroll in the Commons, for it was a warm summer’s day, and she had nothing else to occupy her time. Nothing she felt like doing, anyways.

She always liked walking through the Commons. It was a pleasant, nice break from the business of the city, where she and her family spent most of their time. Though their town home had a rather nice garden and some land, a luxury in Boston, it was nothing like their country home, located just outside of the city, with stables and expansive fields and gardens.

She wished Matthew did not have to leave for New York—he was always leaving lately. But when she thought about it, he had always been away on business, even since they were first married. His business shipped out of ports on both sides of the country, and even other parts of the world. And he always preferred to have his hands in everything. And with the economy as it was of late, it was especially important for him to be involved.

Though she and her husband were not as marred by the recession as many others, due to their successful suites and already stabbed wealth, it took a toll on their family lifestyle.

They barely saw each other these days.

No, she always relied on raising Evan to keep her occupied, but he was leaving too. Though Harvard was merely in Cambridge, he was be too busy with his studies, and mostly likely partying, to visit her very often.

She would, essentially, be alone now.

She supposed she could visit with what was left of her family, but she did not care much for that thought.

She let out a surprised yelp as something hard hit her—or more accurately, _she_ hit something hard. Her pocket book fell out of her hand, and she stumbled back, trying to decider what she had hit, and trying to keep herself upright.

“Steady,” a voice said, that caused a shiver to run up her spine. A man appeared, placing a hand on her arm and back, steadying her. “Are you alright?” he asked, worriedly.

The nasal-intoned voice was oddly familiar—a similar voice she had not heard in over thirty-five years. She looked up into the face of the tall man, and felt the color drain from her own.

He gazed down at her, his eyes widened slightly as their gazes met. Astrid felt as though every breath left her body, the man’s mouth partly slightly as if he were attempting to figure something out. The intensity of his gaze was only less unsettling than his resemblance to a face that she had not looked upon in many years.

That messy auburn hair, the freckles like stars across his face, that nose, those deep green eyes…the only thing missing was the scar on his chin.

He looked at her in uncertainty, and a woman’s voice said, “Is everything alright, Dr. Hartley?”

“Im just trying to figure that out,” he replied, still looking at Astrid with a peculiar expression. “Are you alright, Miss?”

“It’s _Mrs_.,” she said, “Her voice hoarse in shock. She blinked, removing herself form his grasp. “And I’m fine.”

“Nonsense,” the man said, “I am sorry we stepped right into your path. Mrs.…” he prompted for a name.

She looked at him in surprise, then berated herself for being foolish enough to think he would already know it. “Astrid Cartan,” she said, straightening her back.

“Ah,” the man’s eyes widened slightly, “Of course you are. My name is Henock Hendrik Hartley.” He tipped his hat, before glancing over at the young woman on the horse, “And this is my student, Miss Elizabeth York.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Miss York said.

Astrid ignored the girl, staring at the man. Henock Hendrik Hartley… _H. H. H._

“But to be honest, I don’t really go by Henock,” he admitted, “I prefer to be called Hiccup.”

Astrid felt her arms go numb, her pocket book dropping out of her hands again. It did not hit the ground this time, for the man caught it with deft hands. “Here,” he chuckled. “Are you sure you are alright?”

“I—” she cut herself off, unable and untrusting of herself to speak.

“I think something is wrong with her,” Miss York said. “Dr. Hartley, I think we should take her to a hospital. She looks like she’s going to faint.”

Dr. Hartley took her elbow in his hand gently, “Do you need to sit down, Mrs. Cartan? We can get you some water to drink.”

“I need something stronger,” she muttered, before removing her arm from his grasp. “I should be going, thank you.”

“Are you sure—”

“I’m sure,” she interrupted him. “Please, have a good day—the both of you.”

She walked away, not looking back, afraid of what she might see. Afraid to look at the man who looked so much— _too_ much, like the man she knew as a young woman. Afraid the mirage—the vision—the hallucination, was not real, and a stranger would be staring back. Afraid it _was_ real, and somehow _he_ had found a way back into her life. Back to the world of the living.

She had put that world—that time—that experience—out of her memory. She had moved past it, considering it a part of her life that could not touch her anymore.

 _How_ could Hiccup Horrendous Haddock be here now? And why?

When she reached her house, she instructed the maids to look in the attic for an old portfolio, but it was some time until they returned with it. She took it to her study, instructing that no one disturb her, and placed the portfolio on her desk, letting go of it as if it burned her.

She heaved a breath, unsure if she should open it. It had been years since she stashed it away in the attic—after Evan, as a child, found the drawings inside and began asking questions as to who HHH was. Did she dare open them? Alas, she had nothing to remember Hiccup’s face by. The cursed place that no longer haunted her dreams was long ago sold when her uncle passed away. And she had no desire to revisit and refresh her memory of what Hiccup looked like.

She turned and walked to her bedroom, opening her jewelry box and taking out a small key. She returned to her study and locked the door behind her. She stood, facing the door for a moment, before turning and walking with crisp, determined steps to her desk and the waiting portfolio.

She took in a deep breath, her hands shaking despite her resolve, and inserted the key in the lock, slowly turning the mechanisms within and opening it. She reached inside, and drew out a pile of ancient drawings.

She gave out a ragged sigh, able to hear the unshed tears in her voice. It had been so long since she had laid her eyes on these—it evoked memories she was not prepared to revisit. Bad memories, and good. She slowly removed paper by paper to another pile, until she reached the last one, and let a soft sigh escape her lips.

It was faded slightly since the last time she had seen it, but it was still clearly _her._ A soft sketch of a younger, more beautiful version of herself, arm outstretched for the viewer, wearing just a simple, sheer nightgown, her hair—brightly golden back then, she remembered, not streaked with grey as it was now when she did not have it dyed—tumbled down around her in a messy braid.

She sat down heavily in the chair, feeling the energy escape her. When she first married Matthew—she looked at this drawing constantly. But as time went by, she looked at it less and less. When she gave birth to Abbey, she did not have much time at all to think of the past. But after Abbey passed away… she found herself looking at it more and more. When _Evan_ was born, years later, she tried to put it out of her mind. But she still could not keep it away.

When he found it—asking who had drawn her, she resolved to never look at it again. To hide it away and forget that part of her past, the part she did not want her child to be aware of. She could not bring herself to destroy it, and so she stashed it away in the attic, to be forgotten and lost to time.

What cruel fate was it that it should reenter her life in this way?

That she should see a man with the same face, the same voice, and the near same name as the man who had drawn it?

Was she going mad? Was the madness that tortured her at that wretched place passing over her again? She violently shook her head, stuffing the papers back in the portfolio and locking it, placing the key in her desk drawer. She took the portfolio and placed it in her study closet, closing the door and heaving a breath.

She was not _going mad_ —It was hot out and the sun made her see and hear things that were not real. The man who helped her was not some reincarnation of Hiccup. He was just a stranger, entirely unconnected.

There was nothing to worry about.

She was fine.

Everything would be alright.

* * *

**_To be continued… ?_ **

**So this was written ages ago, and I actually have a good 7 or so chapters already written, but I just never knew if I should actually post it here or not…but I figure, what’s the harm, eh?!**

**Anyway!! Let me know if you’d like to read more!**

**Thanks for reading!!!**


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